


Tribute

by ClassiqueMystique



Series: Home On The Range [1]
Category: Frontier (TV 2016), Frontier (TV)
Genre: 3rd story on AO3 for this pairing, Anal Sex, Drabble, Is the pairing name Smarp or Michclan or Harpyth?, M/M, Possessive Declan, Public Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 01:07:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10349016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassiqueMystique/pseuds/ClassiqueMystique
Summary: Declan Harp pays homage to Ireland with flesh.(I'll come up with a better summary later :p)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PeetaPan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeetaPan/gifts).



> Just binge-watched the first season and this fic came to mind. I can't wait until season 2 arrives and this fandom grows. This pairing needs more fics lol. Until then, enjoy!

Declan Harp pays homage to the Cree with every word spoken. With his every step, and every breath that fills his lungs. With every drop of blood that he spills. With every win against the treacherous bastard Lord Benton and his English dogs. He pays tribute to his birthright, and that of his mother’s by simply existing. He is the gentlest breeze. He is the snow that covers the forest in its unmoving blanket. He is the deer with its ears fine tuned to the sound of the wind. And he is the wolf: clever, calculating, and insatiable.

 

_“You going to slit our throats, Michael?”_

_“Well, you never know.”_

 

Declan Harp pays homage to Ireland with flesh.

Flesh that turns redder than fire when you worry it. Hotter than the sun’s rays upon touching. Cold as marble to the eye, and yet burning with an enthralling inferno. All-consuming. He never thought he’d seen skin so white. Whiter even than his half sister’s Grace Emberly. But now he has. And he never wants to be apart from it. He has no choice. He must pay his dues to the fatherland.

 

_“Can I trust you?”_

_“Of course you can trust me.”_

 

Of course he can. He can trust Michael with his life. He knew that as soon as he met him in the woods. Irish runt far away from home in this frozen foreign territory. No, never his home. To Declan, Michael was only temporarily lost. Lost to that perfidious country. Lost to that waif of an Irish lass he wants so badly to claim as _wife_. But lost only temporarily. Michael is no longer so. No longer seeking things undeserving of his attention. No longer seeking _her_. No, Michael was where he belonged now. Declan will be his everything--his breath, his blood, his sun. He will be the ever diligent deer, forever entwined with nature and the wind. And he will be the wolf, fierce and devoted, protector and pack. 

Declan is home.

“Fuck,” Michael mewled softly when Declan sped up the pace of his thrusts. On his back, legs wrapped around that powerful waist, all Michael could do was hold onto the muscled forearms by his head while his hole was thoroughly pounded by the massive fur trader’s thick cock. Spearing him open. Marking his insides with Cree cum and claiming him.

Eyes twinkling from the campfire light, Declan shifted the angle of his thrusts ever so slightly, searching...there. He managed to slap his hand over Michael’s mouth before the Irish lad cried out. Declan grinned at the glare he received, but kept thrusting against that pleasure spot. He didn’t remove his hand. Michael needed to keep quiet. Dimanche and Sokanon slept near the fire close by.  

“Take it. Take what I give you…that’s it. That’s it.” Declan grunted in approval at the blissful look on Michael’s face, and the sudden splash of wetness between their bellies. He picked well with this one, he knew. Strong, spry, and loyal. He would never be able to rebuild the life that Benton stole from him, but he would begin anew with this one. Declan would never let him go. 

 

_“Are you with us?”_

_“I am.”_

**FIN**


End file.
